


Sail Away

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 00:01:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the future. Red is leaving DC, and Lizzie is there to wave him goodbye. Lizzington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sail Away

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters or the title of this story (i borrowed it from David Gray's 'Sail Away' song) :)

Elizabeth watches the two men through the taxi window. Her hands slide underneath her thighs to stop herself from picking at her short nails. It would be nice to capture the moment on camera: pink evening sky, glassy sea, and the two men embracing. Sea birds stand on the pier pillars and, from where Lizzie sits in the taxi, it looks like the birds are watching the men. They are just as curious as her. The tip of Lizzie’s nose presses against the glass as Red pulls away from the hug and pats Dembe’s shoulder. Then he grasps it, and his free hand lifts to cup the side of the taller man’s face. Lizzie wonders what they’re saying to each other. What is Red telling Dembe? Are they planning to meet again soon? A throat clears and it startles her. The driver has left the car idling; Liz tells him she will be a minute longer, so he turns off the engine.

“A friend is leaving?” The driver glances at his rear-view mirror.

“Yeah.”

She waits until Dembe turns to leave before she exits the taxi. He waves to Reddington over his shoulder, and Red lifts the brim of his navy hat in return. It seems so simple, but Lizzie can’t do it. The corner of her eyes prick with tears just watching the scene in front of her. She opens the taxi door and pays the driver the last of her cash. She moves quickly now, nervously. The driver seems surprised by her generosity, asks her if she’s sure, but Liz just smiles at him and the photo of his young daughter clipped to the air conditioner vents. She shuts the door behind her, waits for him to drive off and then walks towards Dembe. She wipes her clammy hands down the thighs of her black jeans. Lizzie holds nothing in her hands, carries nothing. She only has her cell phone which is in the back pocket of her jeans.

It’s there in case things go terribly wrong and she needs Ressler to pick her up.

'You’re worrying about nothing, Keen. Look, I’ll be the one ringing you wondering why you haven’t been in contact for four months.'

The wharf smells of fish and chips. There’s a run-down restaurant to the left of the car park where a mustard arrow directs to the front door (although it's not quite pointing towards the door anymore; it's a bit weather beaten and off margin). The paint is chipped and faded; it’s been like that for years. Lizzie has dined there once with friends, back when she was married to Tom. An elderly couple owned the business then - they still do now– and they don’t have the time, nor the energy to make the outside more appealing. However, most of the city knows the food is excellence. Liz remembers the fish being so fresh and the tabbouleh salad she ordered was sprinkled with gogi berries and mint. If she had thought about it earlier she could have asked Red to dinner.

Red has spotted her. Even from a distance she can see him smiling at her; she imagines his green eyes lighting up behind his tinted glasses. It still takes her by surprise, the way he looks at her. Sometimes, it makes her thinks of a five year old boy opening the Christmas present at the top of his list; that’s the way he looks at her, like she's a gift. She’s sure of it (well, she would never tell anyone it, but she's pretty sure...) She does wonder though, if all these thoughts and assumptions of hers are wrong. That niggling thought has her wringing her fingers right at this moment. She still doesn't know where she stands with him. He cares for her, yes. But her feelings towards him have developed; she hopes that his feelings have developed too, and in the same direction. 

Red's tucked his hands into his pant pockets and stands casually; he leans back on his heels, chin upwards, dressed impeccably, he pulls it off so well. He looks smart and at ease. She wonders if he's really at ease. She wants to hold his gaze the entire stretch towards him, soak up his affection and hopefully be encouraged by his clear delight at seeing her, but Dembe is standing by the black sedan and she wants to speak to him.

“Thank you, Dembe,” she says.

She ponders whether Dembe can see how nervous she is (luckily her chewed cheek is on the inside of her mouth), but he smiles at her and looks rather pleased. Then he tells her to be safe, happy, and his eyes glance back to where Red is standing watching them. Lizzie knows that Dembe wanted to tell Red earlier; this morning when he picked up her belongings he was eager to spill everything. Lizzie’s not entirely sure why she is waiting. It has nothing to do with the element of surprise; it’s more her own nerves than anything, and the fact that it’s easier to talk to Red when it's just him and her. Especially – especially – if she needs to convince him. She’s had many sleepless nights recently, tossing and turning between her sheets, imagining the different ways she could assure him. Some involved kissing him - just leaning right in an kissing him on the lips - but that lead to various worries (what if he was horrified for one! Another: what if he moves to stand at the same time time and she ends up kissing the scent of him).

Liz doesn’t say much else to Dembe; she already knows he is staying in DC for the foreseeable future. He has his own home now just around the corner from his daughter’s place. He wants to be close to her and his granddaughter. Lizzie doesn’t know when she will next see him, so she kisses him on the cheek and thanks him another couple of times in quick succession.

Red is busy looking down at his shoes when she approaches. He would have seen her kiss Dembe’s cheek and, though she’s never pecked Dembe's cheek before, Red will likely assume that her overly affectionate goodbye is because she won’t be seeing Dembe as often (with Red leaving and all). The flat heels on her boots click on the wood; they started at an even pace, but now they seem slow, hesitant. Red lifts his head to greet her and suddenly, she can’t bear to look at him. She's reminded of last night. Red was particularly forthcoming. He told her – lacking the eloquence of his usual speech – that he would miss her tremendously and the time they had spent together.

'I was right, Lizzie, we make a… wonderful team.'

He had then mulled over his next words ¬ clearly chose not to say most of them – and he had frowned, found it hard to maintain eye contact with her (it was all very strange for her to witness). This all occurred when Red wasn’t aware Lizzie would be waving him off today; he thought last night was the final time he would see her for a long while (for how long she has absolutely no idea and the thought is horrible). He seemed unusually self-conscious and quite unsure of how to say goodbye to her from the doorstep of her house. Maybe it was because she didn’t welcome him inside. Perhaps, it was a little rude on her behalf, but she couldn’t! For obvious reasons, Red was not allowed to step foot into her apartment – the place was empty. But she told him, much to his surprise, that she would be there when he left today. She wanted to send him off. He was under strict orders to not leave until she arrived; she wasn’t sure what the traffic and taxi wait was going to be like.

“Well,” She drawls, glances at the yacht adjacent to them. She stands just a stride or two away from him, and she feels overwhelmed; this isn’t goodbye, she reminds herself. “I must admit I expected something a little more… extravagant.”

“Ahh,” Red nods, follows her gaze. “You did? It’s not really about the size of the boat or what’s inside; I’ll be spending most of my time on the deck.”

“Under the stars?”

There's a brief pause.

“Of course," he says.

Lizzie smiles at him and steps closer. If they were to stargaze on this yacht, tonight, things would be much simpler than last time.

“Ressler and Samar say goodbye,” she says and watches his broad shoulders lift as he huffs out a laugh. “I’m serious,” she grins, enjoying the way he brushes the comment off with a flick of his head. “Ressler wanted me to thank you for being the most annoying – useful – pain in the ass ever.” 

“I’m incredibly flattered by his kind words.” Red responds joyfully. “I always knew Donald had a soft spot for me. Perhaps I’ll send him a postcard.”

“You should. Also, Aram had a long list of things for me to tell you… but I can’t remember half of it. He's very... fond of you in a frightened sort of way.” She says, and looks back towards the yacht. “... Can I have a tour in your new, swanky home before you head off?”

Red nods and reaches out to take her hand. His grip is gentle, warm and roots her to the spot until he gives it a squeeze. She rolls her eyes at him when he tells her to be careful in the boots she’s wearing; the deck is still wet because Dembe had washed it only an hour ago. As Red steps over the railing to follow, Lizzie closes her eyes and listens to the water washing up the sides of the yacht; she hasn’t been on many boats before, but it has always been one of her favourite sounds. Peaceful. Red is watching her when she opens her eyes, and realizing he's been caught staring, he goes on to tells her a bit about the yacht. It’s the smallest super-yacht available, he says. However, there is a lot of deck space, and he shows her the outdoor chairs he has set up to face the sun rise, and the way they tilt back for the night sky. Lizzie half listens to him talking about cigars and clean sea air, but she is too busy thinking that there are two chairs, not one. Then she thinks it’s silly for even pointing it out to herself; people often buy a pair of chairs. And, of course, Red may be expecting company along his travels – company that is not her.

The inside of the yacht is stunning. Red wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s always had a thing for lacquered woods and soft leathers. The space reminds her of many of his safe houses; it’s old-fashioned, yet elegant and sophisticated.

“It’s 1930’s inspired,” he tells her proudly.

“It’s very inviting.”

“You think so?”

It feels much larger inside, but it’s still cosy. The lights are already on dim when they enter, and the sofa cushions are deep maroon and white. It feels awfully romantic in here, but she’s unsure whether that’s just her mind imagining things and scenarios. There’s a small stainless-steel kitchen in the left corner; one sofa and an arm chair surrounding the coffee table; a wooden shelf for his stack of records (which she’d love to take a long peek at). She can picture Red sitting crossed legged on the left end of the two-seat sofa, arm draped across the back; the record player in the corner crooning softly, and a crossword on his lap.

Lizzie loves wooden floor boards; she had always wanted them in her first home, but that never happened.

“I can’t think of single person who wouldn’t like this,” she finally replies, still a little in awe.

“Nowadays, many people prefer modern décor.” Red responds, walking towards the carved-wood coffee table. There’s a bottle of unopened wine sitting on it and Liz wonders whether the two glasses next to it, and the two coasters, were put there for her to share a drink with him. Red lifts up the bottle, faces the label to her and raises his eyebrows in question.

“Yes, please.”

Red clears his throat and focuses on pouring the liquid into the two, long-stemmed glasses. Lizzie looks down at his sock-covered feet and she quickly toes off her boots.

"You can keep your shoes on, Lizzie." He tells her, but she shakes her head, puts her shoes near the cabin door and walks towards the kitchen to look out the window. With a view like this, she thinks she could get quite good at cooking.

"I have a few paintings in those boxes over there which i'll hang up in a day or two-" 

“One bedroom?” She questions, then realizes he had spoken before her and her cheeks turn pink - as pink as the peonies Aram gave her last week.

“Yeah.” He passes her the glass of wine. It’s only light, the touch - just his index finger brushing over hers - but it’s enough to make Liz snap her eyes to his, then dart them away just as quickly.

“Feel free to take a look around. Lizzie,” he gestures towards the bedroom.

“Sure. Soon.”

She feels unsure now. What will he say? She doesn’t want to look in the room, not when she knows what’s in there. She can’t even touch him without getting flustered and she wants to join him? She takes a seat on the right of the sofa, runs her hands along the brown leather. Red has noticed how uneasy she has become; he observes her for a moment then takes a large sip of his wine.

“Before I forget,” He pauses, catches her toes tapping the woolen rug. “I have something for you.”

Lizzie nods once, feigns interest not anxiousness, and swallows her mouthful of red wine; she needs it to be something stronger, scotch. Why is he not drinking it the on the one day she'd love some? He’s heading towards the bedroom and her eyes widen. It's all happening now; she’s not ready for this. She should have asked first. She should have. She’s being intrusive.

When he disappears into the bedroom - he doesn’t close the door so she can see his steps falter – she holds her breath. He must have seen it already; Dembe said it was in plain sight (and it's not exactly the smallest one in the world). She runs her fingers around the rim of her wine glass as she waits, then takes another gulp. It's probably some expensive wine she should savour, but the glass is almost empty. Red doesn’t take long, and he doesn’t look at her when he returns. Instead, he places a box wrapped in gold paper on the small table in front of her, retrieves his wine glass and turns to fiddle with the books in the small library case. Liz watches him move the order of the books; his fingers stroke the spines and his face leans in close to read each title.

She looks down at the gift then back up to him. The inside of the yacht felt spacious before, but now she’s hot and the walls have moved an inch closer, she's sure of it. It's boxing them in together. Close quarters.

“Shall I open it?” She asks quietly.

“Please do.”

Red turns around to watch her, so Lizzie reaches for the gold gift; it’s wrapped tight and the smallest pieces of sticky tape have been used. She pretends she has no idea of what he’s just seen and carefully picks at the tape, not wanting to ruin the paper. Her Aunt had always saved wrapping paper each Christmas, a habit that’s stuck with Lizzie through the years. She removes the lid on the small black box.

“A globe.”

“Yes.”

“Red... it’s beautiful.”

“Hand-crafted by an old friend of mine in Europe. He’s an incredibly talented man but rarely finds the time - and perhaps the passion - he once had for creating such things. Mind you I don’t blame-”

“Why a globe?”

She’s catches him off guard; his lips part and his hand hangs in the air between them.

“I thought you would like it." 

To him, it seems like the most obvious answer. Lizzie nods and spins it with her finger. She wonders what places Red will be sailing to. Where will he stop first?

She looks up at him. “Thank you, Red. You didn't have to, but thank you.”

Red bobs his head, walks over to stand in front of her. "He's used chestnut wood on the base... and antique brass just here," he says, running his finger down the curve of brass. He winces, tilt his head to the side. "I thought that if you ever wanted to… pick a place to visit... I could fly you there. And perhaps I could meet you. Call it a vacation.”

It’s a very sweet gesture, but Lizzie wonders if it would be enough for him. How often would they actually meet? She wouldn’t have been able to get much time off work; it wouldn’t be enough for her.

“Did you see it?” She looks up at him.

His gaze is intense and unwavering. It doesn't last long. He takes a step back and turns. “I did.”

Liz holds the globe in her lap, stares at his back, the collar of his warm coat. “What do you think?”

“I didn’t know you were considering.”

“No. Well, you didn’t ask me... and I think I was too scared to bring it up. This way felt easier.”

Red nods, turns around again, but looks anywhere in the room that isn’t her. His gaze lands on the folded gold paper sitting on the floor next to her feet. “When did you decide?”

“The day you told me you were leaving.”

Liz recognizes the twitch in his left cheek immediately. Her heart is already racing, her ears ring, but that little habit of his is just enough to calm her, if only slightly. He wants this. He doesn’t believe it, but he wants it. She knows he does. She can work with this. She feels the phone in the back pocket of her jeans pressing into the sofa squab; she’s not going to need it.

“Lizzie… " He sighs.

She places the globe carefully back into its box, leaves it on her lap and watches as Red walks back towards the bedroom and looks inside. She wonders if he's double checking that it's there. That this is actually something she wants. That he is something she wants.

“You know…” She starts. “When I zipped open my suitcase to start packing I was terrified that I was making a terrible decision.” She laughs lightly, waits until he walks back towards her. His gaze is glued to her now. “That this was a foolish thing to do. But then I started packing… and all that is in that suitcase, Red, is toiletries, clothes, a photo album of Sam and I, and the Sorrento music box you gave me. My life possessions are in that suitcase. That's all I have. Sam’s gone and… you said you were leaving… I didn’t want to lose anything else.”

She sees the lump in his throat, sees him struggle to swallow it. "I should have talked to you first," he replies low and gravelly. "I didn’t…" His lips twist in thought. "I’m not sure I allowed myself to think about how this could affect you... I placed myself here, with you, intruded your every day life, for five years, Lizzie. I’m sorry, for even thinking I could just up and leave like it wouldn't be a disturbance.'”

And it was stupid of her to think she could get through this, with him, without becoming emotional; he makes her feel more, more than any one ever has in her life before. She tilts her head back, rests it against the back of the sofa and blinks at the roof; her vision blurs, and she wishes it wouldn't because there's a skylight directly above her.

“Hey,” Red says softly, alarmed, and he moves towards her. He sits next to her, takes the globe from her lap and places it on the table. Then he finds her hand with his own and holds it, rubs it between his two larger palms. “Lizzie, you must know that there’s not a thing in this world that i would rather do, Lizzie, than take you with me.”

She scans his face, looks down at her enclosed hand all warm and safe in his. "I don't want to stay here without you," she sniffs, sits up straighter, and angles her body towards him.

"I will stay here."

No, Lizzie thinks and shakes her head. She wipes under each eye with the side of her thumb. "You've wanted to do this for so long. I'm not stopping you." 

"You're one of the most sought-after agents-"

"It doesn't mean as much to me as it once did." Lizzie interjects. 

"You don't want to work for the FBI any more?"

"I don't work for them anymore." She respond, biting her lip to await his reaction. Lines form on his forehead, but he says nothing. "And since you – as you say – intruded into my life for five years then it seems only fair that I get to do the same." 

Red nods his head slowly, then lets it fall to the side as he smiles. “That’s quite a point you’ve raised.”

“And a valid one.”

Red looks over her shoulder to the chairs sitting on the deck. He blinks his eyes back to her; his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “…Perhaps, if this is something you feel strongly and sure about... we could see how it goes. An early vacation.”

“Like a trial run; I can change my mind at any time, and so can you.” Lizzie adds.

“I could take you to the most spectacular places, Lizzie. ”

Lizzie's smile grows as his eyelids droop. "Yeah?"

"Anywhere you want to go. Have you been to a pink sand beach before? I've always despised sand. But there's just something so compelling about pink grains of sand. I've always wanted to lay on it, no towel, no rug. Oh, I don't know," he chuckles. "One day."

Lizzie, rather amused, shakes her head at him. "You're taking this surprisingly well. I thought you would have tried to stop me."

"Mm, you're a hard woman to stop when you set your mind to something. And while every fibre in my being is telling me to not let you join me - because i really do want the best for you, sweetheart - I'm finding it incredibly difficult to say no. "

"Do you think... do you think you would have left? Alone?" 

Red chuckles, lets go of her hands to rub at his eyes warily. "The truth is, Lizzie. I wouldn't have lasted in here, out there. As luxurious as this all may seem. If i hadn't had met you, then yes, sailing alone, on the open water, navigating by the stars ... would have been challenging and invigorating. But it all significantly pales in comparison to how you make me feel. Excuse me for the trite comment, but I think you may have... revived me, Lizzie. I feel... so alive with you. It's a wonderful feeling."

"I know."

Red smiles softly and lifts his hand to trace the underside of her jaw with his thumb. His cheeks slacken. Then he leans in closely; his thumb tucks away her hair behind her ear, and he, in his most deepest - and definitely the most playful - tone he's used before, says: 

"We have a problem, Lizzie: there’s just the one bed. I hope you don’t mind?”


End file.
